


And with open eyes we march ourselves into the fire

by Yukichouji



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fish Mooney should be her own warning, Harvey is not helping, M/M, Mooney makes them do it, Non-Con disguised as heavy Dub-Con since Jim is an idiot, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Please don't do this at home, Season 1 Episode 2, Very graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yukichouji/pseuds/Yukichouji
Summary: “You see, you boys tried to fuck me over. Especially you.” Fish slowly saunters up to Gordon as she speaks, her voice as dark and dangerous as a dagger behind a shadowy veil of silk. “So, if you want us to be ‘good’ then it’s only fair I pay you back in kind, right?” She reaches out a finger and tips the defiant arch of Gordon’s chin up with the sharp jut of a perfectly manicured nail, leans in until her breath billows hotly against his neck.





	And with open eyes we march ourselves into the fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the scene from Season 1 ep 2, where Harvey and Jim go back to Mooney's to see, if she'll help them with the child-snatchers. It deviates a little from the version in the show, in case you hadn't guessed. This is very graphic, so please proceed with caution, if you are easily triggered. Also, this is sadly un-beta'd and therefore, even though I have done my best, still a bit rough in patches. I will change that as soon as I get the chance.  
> Enjoy <3

~~~

 

“You see, you boys tried to fuck me over. Especially _you_.” Fish slowly saunters up to Gordon as she speaks, her voice as dark and dangerous  as a dagger behind a shadowy veil of silk. “So, if you want us to be ‘good’ then it’s only fair I pay you back in kind, right?” She reaches out a finger and tips the defiant arch of Gordon’s chin up with the sharp jut of a perfectly manicured nail, leans in until her breath billows hotly against his neck. 

 

Jim can’t suppress the shudder that runs down his back. A small, sardonic part of him almost expects her to lurch forward and bury her teeth in his jugular. Instead she purrs a name against the soft skin below his ear and then pulls back to lean her hip against a nearby table and watch as her right-hand man walks up to join them.

 

Fish’s goons linger in the background, looking on from the shadows, their jackets brushed aside surreptitiously to reveal the handles of their fire-arms, the unspoken threat hanging heavily in the air. Jim curses inwardly, at himself for letting Harvey talk him into coming back here even though Jim knew right from the start that it was a terrible idea and at Harvey for believing he could sway Mooney away from her anger and back into their favor easily enough.

 

“What exactly are you saying?” Harvey blurts out, because apparently he hasn’t gotten it yet.

 

“What I’m _saying_ ,” Fish explains leisurely “is that your boy Gordon is going to let my man Butch here fuck him while you and I sit back and enjoy the show, darling. Otherwise there will be no more helping each other. I don’t care what old man Falcone said, there are a thousand different ways someone can lose their life and have everyone think what a tragic accident it was. Even right here, right now. You well know how creative I can get, if I need to, dear. I’m getting my payback one way or another.”

 

The words impact like punch and Jim’s breath puffs out in a startled rush. Heat rises beneath his collar and into his face, the tips of his ears burning in part anger and part embarrassment. The next thing he knows Butch is crowding him against the bar, grinning down at him like the cat that got the cream, and Jim has to tilt up his head to meet the other man’s eyes. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it real good for you, if you’ll let me.” Butch leans down to breathe the words against Jim’s mouth and he instinctively jerks back. Fish chuckles with dark amusement.

 

“Now wait just a second.” Harvey starts, outraged. “You can’t just go ahead doing stuff like that. The man’s my partner. You expect me to stand back and do nothing while your muscle there molests him? I know you’ve got your ways, Fish, but this ain’t right. It’s fucking crazy, even for your standards!”

 

Fish’s mouth twists into an unhappy snarl, her canines showing, sharp and glinting the club’s subdued lighting.

 

“Harvey, don’t.” The placating words are out of Jim’s mouth before the thought has had a chance to fully form, but even after he’s spoken them, he realizes that he’s not going to take them back. This is his fault, not Harvey’s and he’s aware that what Fish is asking is outrageous, that maybe all she’s doing is playing at having him decline to give her a reason to have them killed, after all.

 

Apparently the idea that he walked a man down the pier and put a bullet in his head for Falcone isn’t enough for Fish and if there’s another price on his and Harvey’s life, then it only seems fitting that he’s the one paying it, regardless of how sick the thought of it makes him feel. He doesn’t regret going after her, not for a second, because it was the right thing to do, but he’s not going to die here today either and he’s sure as hell not going to take Harvey along with him. However bumpy a start their partnership had, the man is kind of starting to grow on Jim. He’s beginning to see glimpses of the man Harvey might have been, before Gotham chewed him up and spit him out, the man he might be able to become, if he’s given the chance.

 

And above  all  that, there are kids disappearing from the streets with no-one  interested in  giving a damn and even the slightest chance that Fish might have a lead for them is worth it,  regardless of how much he hates working with her .  If he’s the only one being hurt  or humiliated , then Jim doesn’t care what it takes,  he’ll  swallow his pride and  do it . 

 

“See, your partner is being much more sensible than you are, here. He must have really learned something last time.” Fish adds, pleased as ever at the prospect of getting her way so easily. She’s a vindictive snake and Jim is sure she’ll use every opportunity she can get away with to hurt them. Jim vows to savor every second of the day he gets to put her behind bars for good. And she’s just one of the many.

 

Butch reaches around Jim and it presses them flush together from knees to chest, the other man’s body heat seeping into Jim’s skin through the layers of his suit. Jim can’t help but notice how tall and broad Butch is and how the line of his body suggests a descent amount of muscle underneath the initial softness. The man is built like a football player and Jim isn’t sure he’d be able to take Butch down so easily if he were allowed to fight back. 

 

Something cold and shivery  twists and  settles  low in his stomach .  An old, half-forgotten fear from his childhood years of being helpless at the hands of someone much bigger and stronger than him, who does not intend to be gentle.

 

With a glass with a finger’s breadth of amber-colored liquid at the bottom of it  cradled in his palm Butch steps back a fraction and holds out the drink to Jim.  The ghost of his warmth lingers.

 

“Make it easier to relax.” Butch hums and grins in a way that makes the flush on Jim’s face deepen.

 

“No thanks.” He retorts, though he has to clear his throat at the way his voice catches on the last syllable. He’s not interested in adding the buzz of alcohol to the mix, doesn’t want anything that will make him feel even less in control of the situation than he already is.

 

“Go on, Detective.” Fish coaxes and fixes him with a dark, silk-smooth look. “It’s all part of the deal.”

 

“Fine.” Jim grits out and takes the offered glass jerkily, downing what turns out to be surprisingly good Bourbon in one quick swallow. If this is what Fish wants, then it’s not like he has a fucking choice. He doesn’t want to waste time arguing, he just needs to get this over with and move on. The alcohol burns a hot trail down his throat and blooms warmly in his gut, spreading outward from there.

 

B utch takes the glass form  him , let s their fingers brush deliberately, and sets it down onto the bar  with a subtle clank . Jim meets his gaze stubbornly, refusing to  give in and le t his nerves show .

 

“We should probably take this somewhere a bit more private.” Fish pushes away form her table and saunters past them with the kind of grace that is given only to the deadly. It’s not like Jim can say no, not like he’s going to let himself, so he follows her and keeps his gaze fixed rigidly ahead to avoid Harvey’s gaze as he walks by him.

 

Harvey snags Jim’s arm, though, makes him turn around so that Harvey can  hiss at him. “What the  h ell, Jim? You can’t be serious! I’ll find another way to deal with  her , if you just –“

 

“Do you really think that’ll work? You know her better than me, do you really think she’ll back off after she’s set her mind to something?” Jim grits out and shakes off Harvey’s grip. “This is the simplest solution. It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Not a big – What is _wrong_ with you, huh? Hey! Don’t just walk away from me! I can’t fucking believe this. Of all of the bad ideas you’ve had since we met this one takes the goddamn cake. I know you have virtually no sense of self-preservation, but this is fucking insane!”

 

Jim ignores Harvey’s low ranting and makes his way  around the tables and chairs, led on ward by the deliberate sound of  knife -sharp heals on the old wood of the floorboards. 

 

They end up in a backroom that’s so cliché Jim would laugh if he had any humor left in him. The room is kept true to the style of the bar, with its ambient lighting, its lush, red carpet and its scattering of comfortable armchairs along the walls, while the center of the room is dominated by a large, rounded bed, complete with black silk covers.

 

A cynical part of Jim wonders what Fish normally uses the room for, or whether she does this kind of thing a lot. It doesn’t really make him feel any better about the whole situation.

 

“Make yourself right at home, darling.” She tells Harvey, like this is the most normal fucking thing in the world, while she sinks down into one of the chairs-with-a-view herself. 

 

“I’m good right here, thanks.” Harvey’s voice sounds from near the door, but Jim doesn’t turn around to look at him, just keeps his eyes on the opposite wall. He can feel Harvey’s gaze drill holes into the back of his head while he follows Butch’s lead and shrugs out of his suit-jacket to let it drop onto a near-by seat. He won’t be able to do this, if he lets himself think about Harvey or Fish so he pushes them to the back of his mind and concentrates only on himself and Butch.

 

S omething more than the subtle buzz of the Bourbon  is  beginning to throb beneath  Jim’s skin in a way that makes him reach up to loosen his collar, feeling  suddenly  constricted by it,  trapped. There must have been something in the drink, Jim realizes  and his stomach drops out,  a dull sense of  dread twisting his gut into shivery knots .  He should have known.

 

“Don’t worry.” Butch hums and reaches forward to cup the fingers struggling with Jim’s tie and undo the knot himself, pulls the strip of cloth from around Jim’s neck and lets it glide to the floor thoughtlessly. “I’ll take real good care of you. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

 

Jim wants to bite out a sarcastic retort but his words are cut off when Butch bends down to kiss him. The press of lips against his own is anything but demure and the other man’s tongue, slick and hot, slips into his mouth at the first stilted gasp, intrusive and unbidden. Butch tastes like expensive Whiskey and cheap cigars and Jim moans despite himself.

 

The slick heat of the other’s mouth has Jim dazed and transfixed and a slow burning fire spreads through his veins, rising tauntingly. Jim fists his hands into the front of Butch’s vest, but forgets just a moment later whether it was to push him away or pull him in closer.

 

This isn’t right, a panicked little voice in the back of Jim’s head keeps trying to tell him as Butch breaks the kiss so that he can languidly work open the buttons of Jim’s shirt, one after another, and Jim finds himself clumsily tipping forward to follow the other man’s mouth.

 

It should bother him more, he thinks, but Jim finds it harder and harder to focus on anything outside of where he’s being touched as large, warm hands push the cotton of his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. Jim sucks in a hitching breath when they come back to brush ticklishly along his sides and bunch up the soft fabric of his undershirt to pull it over his head. The air on Jim’s flushed skin feels colder than it should and he shivers at the touch of it.

 

“There you go.” Butch mumbles teasingly against the line of his jaw and Jim goes much too easily when the backs of his knees bump against the edge of the bed and he’s being pushed back to land on the soft, smooth sheets. The mattress shifts and bounces to accommodate him and the motion worsens his growing sense of vertigo.

 

H is shoes are pulled off his feet, first one, then the other, and  then the mattress dips  again  under Butch’s weight.  A broad, calloused palm  ghosts slowly up Jim’s leg, from down by his ankle to the bend of his knee, to the juncture of his hip, leaves behind a  tingling trail of heat  even through the fabric of his trousers,  as Butch makes his way up the bed. 

 

Fish Mooney’s right hand man moves up Jim’s body until they’re face to face, hot breath mingling intimately in the small bit of space between them, and he cages Jim in with his arms on either side of Jim’s head. A large, looming figure that makes Jim swallow around the sudden driness in his mouth and when knees brush the insides of his thighs Jim jerks them wider, startled.

 

A low, feminine laugh floats through the room but Jim can’t focus on Fish, not when Butch starts to kiss him again, hungry and demanding, and presses a thick thigh up against Jim’s crotch. Butch moves his leg slow and deliberate, in the same rhythm as the tongue that fucks Jim’s mouth and all he can do is cling to Butch’s arms and try to keep on breathing through the dizzying rush of blood.

 

Jim pants against Butch’s lips, makes needy little noises in the back of his throat that he’d be ashamed about, if he had half of his brain-function left, and he cants his hips into the pressure. It’s not enough, not nearly, and Butch swallows down Jim’s frustrated groan.

 

Breaking  the kiss Butch begins to pull back and Jim  involuntarily hold s on to  his shoulders with  unsteady fingers , tr ies to keep him close.  His skin feels too tight, too hot and he needs something, anything to ease the burn.

 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

 

Jim has to concentrate too hard to make his mind connect meaning to the words and it all gets shot to hell the moment Butch lays a hot palm onto his chest, moves it slowly down over the hectic rise and fall of his ribs and to his stomach where muscles flutter and tense. Eager to be touched Jim arches into it, sucks a shuddering breath through his teeth as Butch’s thumb dips into his navel and teases there before sliding further down. He feels lost, unmoored, like a ship caught in the sway and pull of a heavy storm, with Butch’s hands on him the only thing that grounds him and that scares him more than a little.

 

Jim has to grit his teeth against the jumble of words threatening to spill out of him while the heel of Butch’s hand presses down on the soft stretch of skin just above the line of Jim’s belt. He’s already so hard it hurts, arousal straining against the soft material of his dress-pants. And then Butch reaches down to cup him through is trousers.

 

Jim presses his head back into the covers and keens, mouth falling open helplessly to suck air into his aching lungs. Butch’s palm feels like a brand, even through the layers of fabric and it hurts, the way the hard line of his zipper digs into sensitive flesh, the way he’s trapped and bent, but all Jim can do is buck into the touch and chase shocks of pleasure that spark deep in his gut and leave him dizzy and shaking.

 

“That’s it.” Butch urges him on as he bends down to place wet, open-mouthed kisses along the tense arch of Jim’s neck and Jim lets himself push up into Butch’s palm, lost in the heat and the friction, the not enough, too much of it. Lets the fire in his blood consume him until his world narrows down to the sting of sweat in his eyes and the mounting pleasure low in his belly.

 

His release hits him like a freight train, he can feel the vibrations of his vocal-chords as he yells but the sound of it is drowned out by the rush of white-noise in his ears. For one blissful moment the world fades out.

 

Butch’s hand becomes too much on over-sensitized skin and Jim tries to push it away, uncoordinated as he shudders through the aftershocks, unable to catch his breath. Butch obliges him and grins down at the wet spot that slowly spreads across the front of Jim’s trousers, looking much too pleased with himself.

 

Jim has a short instant of clarity, just enough for shame to creep in at the edges and darken the blush on his face, make him want to twist away and screw his eyes shut. But the drugs in his system don’t give him time to dwell before the heat begins to rise, bubbles through his blood and fogs up his thoughts all over.

 

He groans as his barely calmed heart-rate kicks up again and his skin burns and prickles with the sting of new sweat. When Butch reaches down to unbuckle Jim’s belt and his fingers brush the bulge below, Jim is shocked to find that he’s half-hard still.

 

Butch makes short work of Jim’s fly and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Jim’s briefs before pulling them down and off. The cool air is a shock against Jim’s throbbing arousal, sticky-wet and glistening with the remnants of his release.

 

He shifts uncomfortably, the silk of the sheets clinging to his skin where sweat has soaked into the smooth material. Lets his eyes wander to Butch kneeling between Jim’s spread legs, Jim’s thighs draped across his. The fabric of Butch’s dress-pants is soft against Jim’s bare skin and Butch pulls his mouth into a crooked smile as he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows leisurely.

 

The color high on his cheeks and the not-so-subtle tent in his trousers betray his outward cool, though, and Jim finds himself swallowing around the lump in his throat. His eyes follow Butch’s movements as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out two small foil packages, a condom and lube.

 

Jim has been with guys before, in college out of curiosity mostly and in the army out of convenience, but it was never more than short and awkward stints of ‘lending someone a hand’. He’s never wanted to let someone fuck him. It just hadn’t seemed appealing and he’s happily been with Barbara ever since he got back. He can’t help the way his breath catches and his chest tightens.

 

Jim’s thoughts jumble and scatter when Butch grabs hold of him and pulls him forward until his hips are propped up on the other man’s knees. He feels open and exposed and his hands tangle with the bed-covers, trying to find something to hold on to.

 

“Don’t worry, kid. It’s all good.” Butch tears open the pack of lube, lets some of it drip onto his fingers and then takes a moment to rub them together to warm it up, before he reaches down to touch Jim. He presses slick fingertips to the soft stretch of skin just beneath Jim’s balls, drags the digits down across his perineum and Jim gasps at the unexpected jolt of heat that shivers up his spine.

 

One slippery finger finds the tight ring of muscle, circles it slowly to spread the lube around and Jim closes his eyes as he tries to force himself not to shy away from the touch. He’s doing this for a reason, he keeps reminding himself. Butch’s other hand moves to Jim’s dick, skin on skin for the first time and, yeah, that’s something a lot better to focus on. It’s tight and slick and the pressure is just right when Butch starts to jerk him off and Jim doesn’t fight the way his hips buck into it. The hard, skin-warm line of Butch’s broad signet ring falling short of being painful just so.

 

It’s too soon for him to be able to come again, even with the drugs’ liquid heat pooling underneath his skin, but that doesn’t keep him from hardening fully and it only makes the pleasure of being touched more intense. Like this, Jim almost misses it, when the first finger slips in, the subtle burn of the intrusion.

 

It feels weird and a little uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt and Butch’s hand on him keeps his mind off of it for the most part. He tries to focus on the way Butch’s wrist twists just so on every upward stroke, making his hands shake and his stomach flutter.

 

Jim gasps at the second finger, the stretch harder to ignore, more insistent, and he moves one hand to Butch’s knee so that he can hold onto the sleek fabric of his dress-pants. The pressure at the base of his spine builds steadily, winds itself higher, fed by the perfect friction of Butch’s fist on his dick and it’s getting harder and harder to pull enough air into his lungs.

 

When Butch crooks the fingers inside him at just the right angle and drags them over something, stars explode in front of Jim’s eyes and he keens at the sudden electric surge that sparks up his spine, overwhelming in its intensity. Butch grins and does it again, aiming for that spot every time he pushes in and Jim slaps his hand to Butch’s wrist helplessly, desperate for some form of control, but he ends up just holding on for dear life because his melting brain-cells can’t decide if he needs Butch to stop or to give him more.

 

Butch works in a third finger along with the other two and this one is more of a struggle. Jim’s muscles aren’t used to being stretched so far and his body tries to fight the intrusion by clamping down around it. He presses a palm to his mouth, sinks his teeth into the meat of it and uses the pain as a counterpoint, does his best to breathe through it until his body adjusts. It doesn’t _hurt_ , not exactly, and it shouldn’t be this hard to bear, he’s lived through so much worse, but somehow the intimacy of this makes it different.

 

“Shit.” Butch curses, breathless, when he scissors his fingers experimentally and Jim jerks and gasps and digs his nails into the skin of Butch’s wrist. “Sorry.”

 

He lets go of Jim’s dick and strokes up Jim’s heaving flank, leaves sticky trails behind on feverish skin that glistens in the low light. Reaches for the hand Jim is biting into and gently pries it away. He unfurls Jim’s fingers and brings them up to his own mouth and Jim makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat as Butch sucks Jim’s index finger into his mouth, wet heat and the teasing graze of teeth.

 

Jim closes his eyes and lets it wash over him, lets the tingling buzz under his skin and the rush of static in his head drown out the ache until his body gives in and begins to relax, to open up to the steady thrust of Butch’s fingers as he fucks into Jim. The need to get off builds steadily, his head spinning with it, blood pounding in his ears, but he can’t, not without a hand on his dick _._

 

Butch’s fingers pull away, leaves him reeling with the unexpected loss. He can’t think and he’s burning up, feels like sobbing at how close he is, how badly he needs Butch to touch him again. Jim is so far gone that all he can do is lie there, panting and gasping. Follow with his gaze as Butch fumbles open his fly, hands clumsy and breath quick, pulls himself out and rolls on the condom.

 

He’s dark and swollen and glistening with pre-come and Jim lets Butch arrange him as he pleases. Lets him hook one of Jim’s legs over his shoulder, where the expensive fabric of Butch’s dress-shirt clings to the soft, sweat-damp skin at the back of his knee.

 

Butch leans forward until Jim’s leg is pressed against his chest and Butch’s breath billows ticklishly across the feverish skin of Jim’s face. Butch is still almost fully clothed while Jim is naked beneath him and Butch’s solid weight blanketing him feels like it’s the only thing that keeps Jim from flying apart.

 

Jim’s breath hitches when Butch reaches down to line himself up and the fat tip of his dick crowds against Jim’s ass. He can’t move like this, pinned down and supine and when he tries to reach for his own arousal, straining and throbbing and painfully hard, Butch knocks his hand away and Jim whines with the mindless frustration of not being able to do anything about it.

 

Ever so slowly Butch rolls his hips back and forth, increasing the pressure on every forward motion and sending shivery little thrills up Jim’s spine. He tries to cant his hips into it, impatient to get it over with, to make Butch give him something more than this, anything, and then the head of Butch’s dick finally slips in and Jim’s heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s bruising his ribs from the inside. Butch keeps on pushing, shoves in relentlessly and he’s so thick and hot and the pressure feels like too much.

 

Jim is so _full_ , the stretch a sharp, intimate burn with the soft material of Butch’s trousers pressed against Jim’s naked ass and he doesn’t realize he’s babbling until Butch brushes a soothing hand along his side and hushes him, voice strained. “Hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

 

Butch pulls out halfway and thrusts back in, jostles Jim as his dick drags across that perfect spot and Jim just _can’t._ The heat that explodes in his gut is too sharp, too bright and he clings to Butch’s shoulders as he shakes apart at every thrust, his voice rising helplessly. Light bursts in front of his eyes and his lungs can’t seem to pull in enough air, dizzy and reeling.

 

Jim begs but doesn’t know what he’s asking for, lost to the way Butch fucks him, deep and hard, how he knocks the breath out of him again and again until Jim’s head spins and his vision blurs and his world narrows down to the fever that’s consuming him.

 

He feels like he’s drowning, helpless and completely open, each and every one of his defensive layers stripped away and just when he thinks he can’t take it anymore, he just can’t, Jim comes. Yells as he shoots white stripes all across his stomach and the tacky purple of Butch’s vest, makes a sticky mess of everything. Butch doesn’t stop, keeps thrusting into him even as Jim’s muscles clamp down around him painfully and the electric shocks that light up over-sensitized nerve endings have Jim sobbing and pleading.

 

Butch fucks into him relentlessly, his rhythm faltering until he goes completely still, groaning and Jim flinches at the way he can feel Butch _pulse_ inside him as he comes.

 

A breathless laugh bubbles form Butch’s mouth as he leans back and pulls out slowly. Jim hisses at the friction and the feeling of hollowness that stays behind. Every muscle in his body goes slack all at once and his arms drop onto the covers bonelessly, head spinning and chest heaving.

 

Butch ties off the condom and tucks himself back in. Smooths the wrinkles from his clothes and takes a moment to catch his breath.

 

“Well, now.” Fish’s voice startles Jim out of his daze and he tilts his head to see that she’s abandoned her seat to stalk over to the bed, the look in her eyes dark and pleased. She rakes her sharp-tipped nails through his sweat-damp hair and Jim cants away from her touch, feeling like he might be sick. “I just knew you’d be worth my time, Detective. So much fire. Just remember this the next time you think about coming after me. This and the cameras overhead.” She twists an elegant finger towards the ceiling and Jim clenches his teeth and closes his eyes.

 

The bed dips as Butch gets up, worsening Jim’s vertigo. He leans down to pat Jim’s cheek and grins. “Pleasure doing business with you, kid. Come back anytime, if you feel like doing that again.” Then he turns around to follow Fish out of the room.

 

Jim wants to punch him in the face but he can’t make his muscles cooperate enough to go through with it. A low, intimate ache reminds Jim only too well that he just got royally fucked in every sense of the word.

 

“Give your boy a moment to put himself back together, darling, then you can come out and ask me your questions.” Fish tells Harvey before her heels click through the door and out into the club.

 

The poor guy looks a little shell-shocked, pale and haunted with an unhealthy smattering of red blotches across his face and Jim wants to laugh at the irony of the fact that he’s tempted to feel sorry for his partner. He’s probably going to end up having to apologize for dragging Harvey into this.

 

Jim groans as he manages to sit up, his muscles hurt and he’s shaky but at least the buzz of the drugs is finally wearing off and for that Jim is more than grateful. He locates his pants on the bed and pulls them on, turns around to find Harvey holding out his undershirt.

 

“I had no idea you were into that sort of thing, buddy. If your girlfriend isn’t doing it for you and you needed to get your rocks off, you coulda just asked me, you know? I wouldn’t ‘a minded lending a helping hand, if ya know what I mean. Small favor between partners and all that. It woulda saved us a shitload of trouble.” Harvey gripes, exasperation masking how shaken he is, holding on to Jim’s shirt when he tries to take it from him. “I hope you know how incredibly, monumentally stupid what you just did was.”

 

“It’s not a big deal.” Jim bites back, even though he very much knows what a load of bull that is, and tugs at the cloth in his hand angrily but the world just sort of tilts and the next thing he knows Harvey has his hands on Jim’s shoulders to keep him from keeling over.

 

“Christ in a hand-basket.” Harvey curses and gives Jim a shake that makes his teeth click. He looks up at Harvey as the room at the edges of his vision blurs out of focus. “Not a big deal, huh? You know she’s got you by the balls now, right? Worse than before, because she doesn’t have to ask Falcone for permission, if she wants to use _this_ against you. I have to work with you, for God’s sake! All I wanna do right now is grab one of these very nice looking chairs and use it to beat some fucking sense into you.”

 

Jim takes a deep breath and rubs an unsteady hand across his face. “Look, I’m sorry.” He says without meeting Harvey’s eyes. “Can we maybe talk about this later? We came here for a reason, remember?”

 

He doesn’t really want to go out there and deal with Mooney, he wants to find a dark quiet hole to crawl into until he doesn’t feel like he’s gonna fly apart the moment he has to look her or Butch in the face again or really think about what he just did, let Butch do _to him_ and -

 

Jim shakes his head in an attempt to clear it and pushes Harvey away so that he can get dressed. He’ll find a way to deal with this, with the consequences, when it becomes necessary. Right now, what he needs to do is pull himself together and get through the rest of this.

 

~~~

 

Harvey keeps cursing him all the way out of the club but Jim doesn’t really care. In the end Fish gives them nothing but a load of vague bullshit they could have figured out on their own easily enough and Jim knows that this time he really fucked up. They still have those other leads to follow, though, and if he concentrates hard enough on the stuff that really matters – going after those who prey on the weak and defenseless, the ones no-one else gives a damn about – then maybe he won’t have to think about it for now. He stuffs his hands into his pockets so that he can keep pretending they’re not shaking.

 

Fish’s words follow him into his dreams that night.

 

_You’re just a little sinner like the rest of us. I’m almost kind of disappointed._


End file.
